


cages

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Diplomatic Parties Are The Worst, First Meetings, M/M, Republic Navy Officer Poe Dameron, Republic Never Fell AU, Senator Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: From inside, the sound of the band warming up drew both of their attentions. And though Poe mostly heard his own sigh, he thought his kindred spirit sighed, too. “Not a fan?” Poe offered, incapable of staying quiet any longer.That whole inability to keep his mouth shut thing. It could be a real drag.





	

It wasn’t that Poe didn’t enjoy parties. He did. Generally. At least when friends were involved and a person didn’t run the risk of causing a diplomatic incident just by opening their mouth—which Poe was also known to enjoy doing. At regular intervals. Probably more often than was entirely good for him if truth be told. It was just bad luck that being known for opening his mouth had gotten him promoted far beyond his ambitions instead of getting him shuffled off to some backwater, go-nowhere appointment where he couldn’t cause any trouble for the brass.

Now he was the brass.

And this was his reward. If ‘being stuck at tedious, fraught diplomatic events’ could be construed as a reward. Probably somebody thought it was. But Poe wasn’t one of those people.

All he’d ever wanted to do was fly for the Republic Navy; he didn’t want to lead her, too. Not beyond a squadron, maybe.

Skulking around the bar in the back, well away from the vast majority of the action, he wondered just how bad it would look if he ordered two drinks at once and kept them both for himself. Save everyone—mostly him admittedly—some time and trouble. Rolling and shifting his shoulders one after the other, he looked from side to side and noted that nobody had more than the usual number of drinks in hand. And nobody had yet gone in as hard as Poe was—champagne was the popular choice tonight and Poe’d already skipped straight to bourbon. Yeah, it would look bad. Sadly.

His neck popped audibly as he stepped up and contorted himself halfway across the bar while avoiding jostling other beings, raising his hand to get the attention of one of the droids in charge of the alcohol.

His dress uniform stretched tight across his back, stifling and confining and all around uncomfortable. He’d been told it was tailored to his exact measurements by the droid responsible for tailoring it. And Karé’d said it looked fine when he’d gone to her for confirmation that it was terrible; he’d trusted her, but was it worth it? Glancing around, he noticed a whole lot of bigwigs who didn’t care a bit about how well _theirs_ fit. Of course, they also didn’t look terribly uncomfortable, so who was the real loser in this competition?

“The same drink, Commodore?” the droid asked, its tone pleasant and mechanical and so neutral that Poe was sure somewhere deep in its programming it was judging him.

“Yeah,” Poe answered, feeling very much older than his years at the sound of deference in the droid’s tone and the skeptical interest the enunciation of his title drew from a handful of the people around him. Someone _his_ age? Commodore? Impossible. Poe wished that was true. “Same drink.”

There were a couple of hundred people here and Poe knew a lot of them, but he’d never felt more alone.

The droid slid a glass his way. Amber liquid sloshed about inside, its surface catching the light and sparking it back almost playfully. Poe considered lingering, but he didn’t need to be tempted to finish his drink any quicker than he already wanted to.

Stars, but he hated coming to shit like this.

Winding his way past throng after throng of people, he slipped outside through a discreet side door, thick and made of transparisteel and left unlocked by the grace of whatever deities oversaw such things.

It was… remarkably green. For a skyscraper. Full of vegetation and even the sound of birdsong. Whether that was real or not, Poe didn’t really want to know, but it was a nice touch either way.

Gardens weren’t really his thing either, but the one out here was impressive as far as such things went. Or Poe supposed it was. It looked nice, contrasted well against Coruscant’s skylanes twinkling overhead, the lights stretching to the horizon. Massive, impossible structures punctuated the vista at regular intervals. Someone must’ve put up a sound-dampening field around this particular stretch of balcony. Save for the occasional _cheep cheep cheep_ sound, he couldn’t hear a damned, blessed thing except his own feet on the ferrocrete pathway that twisted and turned through the tangles of green foliage. A riot of pale blue and white flowers twined throughout, of every shape and size, but only in those colors.

He had no idea how large it was. For all he knew, it lined the entire perimeter of the building at this level. Assuming this party kept going, he might have enough time to find out. Mostly staring down into his drink, he scuffed his feet and avoided checking his personal chronometer. He didn’t notice the bench ahead of him, half-hidden by a tall, potted tree, its leaves thick and heavy, falling in an arch toward the ground. But more than that, he didn’t notice the man sitting on said bench. Not until he was almost on top of him. And by then it was too late to avoid him.

Poe couldn’t blame himself too much though. The guy was dressed all in black, head to foot, robes long enough even to cover his shoes. The only hint of color on him was in the form of a few accents of gold around his collar and the hem of his sleeves. Would’ve needed to be wearing a reflective vest to see him under all that shade and nighttime. His face betrayed little save annoyance through the shadows that fell across his cheeks and beneath his nose even though it was partially his own fault for being so camouflaged. When their eyes connected, his were definitely, definitely indicating how very done he was. Poe sympathized. Deeply.

Offering a nod, he turned his attention away and intended to pass the man by entirely. Leave him to his own devices. If he was out here, he sure wasn’t looking for conversation. And Poe couldn’t even blame him.

From inside, the sound of the band warming up drew both of their attentions. And though Poe mostly heard his own sigh, he thought his kindred spirit sighed, too. “Not a fan?” Poe offered, incapable of staying quiet any longer.

That whole inability to keep his mouth shut thing. It could be a real drag.

The man’s eyes widened slightly and his mouth pulled down in a deep, thoughtful frown. “What gave it away?” he asked, dry in such a way that Poe couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. Then, he pushed himself to his feet. It was almost like watching a scroll unfurl and suddenly Poe was left looking at an impressively tall, impressively well-built man. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that from the way he’d been hunched forward in the dark. Poe wanted to go back to that innocent time of a few seconds ago.

Didn’t stop Poe from continuing to speak though.

“Just a guess.” All Poe couldn’t decide for certain was wondered whether it was purposeful or not. Politicians steeped themselves in the images they projected—and good money was on this guy being one of them, too, even if he did set himself apart from the rest merely by being out here. Poe shrugged. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to destroy the mystique for you.”

The man rolled his eyes, his gaze flicking down to Poe’s chest. Once upon a time, he might’ve been flattered. Now he knew it was just a matter of asserting how important Poe was in the grand scheme of the Republic’s massive bureaucratic machine. Poe knew how it would go from here. Either this guy would be junior enough to think Poe was worth his time or he was too senior to care. “Commodore,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be inside glad-handing senators for a better cut of the defense budget?”

Poe grinned, fierce, challenging; he couldn’t _not_ do so when he was just proved wrong. This guy was clearly high enough up the rung that he felt he had the right to hassle Poe, but instead of dismissing him entirely, he’d _stooped_. It was the most fun he’d come across all night. “I’m not quite that important.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Not for me,” he answered, jaunty, rocking back on his heels. He lifted his glass to his lips as he considered his options. Self-deprecating seemed the right direction. He’d had enough to drink to reach the hating his life and career portion of the evening anyway. Might as well be truthful about it. “I’ve never been great at shaking hands.”

The man’s mouth quirked, twitching once before settling back into an indifferent mask. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly he tilted his head instead, his eyes narrowing as though listening for something—but Poe heard nothing out of the ordinary. The musicians had begun, sure. But that was it. Maybe the man just liked birds? “Good for you,” the man said finally, distracted. Then sighing, he dragged his hand across his cheek and back through the waves of his thick, black hair. “I’m afraid duty calls. Thank you for the… scintillating conversation.” He sounded dubious and was definitely unimpressed—most probably with Poe. It wouldn’t be the first time. His gaze raked up and down Poe’s body, dismissive, a second time. “I hope you have better luck avoiding senators than I’ve had.”

There was an undertone in his voice that Poe found suspicious, but Poe couldn’t figure out why.

Lifting his glass to his forehead, Poe acknowledged him with a brief salute. “You need an unenthusiastic dance partner, you let me know.” He had no idea why he made the offer; Poe wasn’t even a fan of dancing. And he had no idea whether this guy was going in to do that or would even want to do so with him if he did.

The man turned back and looked at him, far more scrutinizing than before. When you spent your life in the cockpit of a starfighter, not a whole lot else came off as intense as it might otherwise have done so, but that scrutiny? Was intense. His eyes narrowing, he said after a long pause, “All right.”

Poe’s mouth fell open slightly and his mind raced to find a way to get him out of this. He hadn’t meant it, not really, and he didn’t want to go back in, but he _had_ offered. And it was all his own fault. Finishing off the last of his drink, he slapped the glass against the bench and refused to mourn the fact that he didn’t have a second drink to down. “All right, then.” He swallowed back a groan of disappointment. “Lead the way.”

The man nodded, sharp, like he’d expected nothing less from Poe than complete agreement from him. That made Poe want to be contrary, to deny him his request now that it’s been made, to say, “On second thought, nah, man.” But he did none of those things because his mother and father had taught him better than that and he’d long ago learned to take his lumps. Especially when he’d brought them on himself.

“So,” Poe said, falsely cheerful instead as they strode back toward the building, “what’s your name?” At one time, he’d considered himself a charming man. Others had considered him the same by all accounts. But he sure as hell wasn’t feeling it right now even though he desperately wanted to be found charming—for reasons he couldn’t articulate. 

The man looked back at him, amused, almost pitying. It made a hard lump of uncertainty settle in his stomach. He knew what trouble looked like. And boy, had he walked himself right into it. Because his mind worked so fast, it was almost anticlimactic when the man finally answered.

But only almost.

“Ben Amidala,” he said, perfunctory, tugging at his sleeve.

“Holy shit.” And now that he looked at the man—Ben, Ben, his name was _Ben Amidala_ —and they were closer to the building, with the lights from inside filtering out to assist, yeah, Poe could absolutely see that he was talking to the newest senator for the Chommell sector, the former monarch of Naboo, and Leia Organa’s son. Padmé Amidala and General Anakin Skywalker’s grandson. _Holy shit_. “I mean…”

“Oh, I got what you meant, Commodore Dameron.” And if Poe had offended him, he had the strangest way of showing it Poe’d ever seen. He’d practically relaxed in the moment it had taken Poe to make an utter fool of himself.

Poe’s stomach sunk even further. A hole could’ve opened in the floor and Poe would have happily jumped into it. “You know who I am.”

Pleased, legitimately, happily pleased, the way a kid was pleased when they caught a bug under a scope, Amidala nodded. “My mother thinks you’re one of the Republic aces of old reborn. I believe my father has even expressed some jealousy on that score… Of course I know who you are.”

“Bullshit,” Poe answered, now too annoyed to mind his manners. Stretching his steps to catch up to Amidala and his long-legged strides. “I’ve met your father. He’s not impressed with me at the best of times.”

Amidala sniffed, exactly as unimpressed as his father might have been. Poe wondered how much he’d appreciate the comparison. Regardless, it got across all the information Poe needed in order to guess his meaning. _You think being unimpressed would stop my father,_ he seemed to be saying. _You’re sadly misinformed._

Poe figured that was a generously uncharitable reading of the situation, but he was in no position to argue about it. He’d only met Han Solo the once after all. It wasn’t his place to comment further on the state of Amidala’s familial relationships. 

“Do you really want to dance?” Poe asked instead, swallowing around a sudden case of nerves. Anyone caught dancing with a new senator, particularly one of Amidala’s pedigree, was sure to draw every sort of unwanted attention. 

And the last thing Poe wanted was more attention. Not that anyone _believed_ him on that score or would find new reason _to_ believe him now. But it was true nonetheless.

Sighing under his breath, he straightened his stance and tried very much not to feel as though he was about to face down a particularly difficult debrief. Or a court martial. Or a firing squad. 

_I might actually prefer one of those,_ he thought morbidly, ignoring how much better Amidala was handling this, how much more graciously. He’d been hiding, too. That made Poe think they were… sympathetic to one another. Now Poe wasn’t so sure.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, accusatory. His first instinct was to poke the man in the shoulder, round on him and put a stop to this. But this was a senator and a planetary ruler and Poe was already taking so many liberties, he could see his career circling the drain if Amidala took issue with him. He was betting on not, but senators were finicky, easily startled and affronted. Poe was playing a dangerous game here.

But what was life without a few bets to make it interesting? It kept his mind off the very real possibility that he was about to be turned to grist in the capital’s gossip mills. 

“A little,” Amidala admittedly, affecting a sarcastic lightness of tone that Poe found disgustingly charming for how snotty it was. “If I have to suffer…” He squinted down at Poe, analytical. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“How generous.” Poe scoffed, stepping forward and grabbing the door for Amidala. Not because he was a senator and more powerful than Poe ever wanted to be, but because it was the mannerly thing to do. “Spoken like a man who’s used to getting what he wants.”

Amidala smiled a grin so sharp it could’ve given a vibroshiv a run for its credits. Poe willed himself to believe it wasn’t as attractive an expression as it was. The man clearly needed no more encouragement from Poe. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Senator, everyone’s got a sob story,” he answered, sharp, too, to match Amidala’s smile. “But I have a hard time believing yours is the worst I’d ever hear.”

Peering at him, curious, Amidala nodded and then looked just as quickly away. “That’s true enough, I suppose.” The line of his throat worked as he swallowed. A concession, perhaps. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Poe sighed and forced himself to relax. Maybe cut Amidala some slack. There was no need for him to be rude or behave like this is the end of the world. “It’s just a dance,” he said, placating, a little apologetic. It wasn’t his right to judge Amidala. “I’ll survive.”

They approached the ballroom where all this so-called dancing was taking place. From a quick scan of the room, Poe gathered few enough were truly interested in the tradition and merely paid lip service to it. Most everyone clung to the walls, glittering and beautiful and untouchable, pointing and whispering at one another and no doubt determining how the next day’s news rounds were going to go. Basically, the floor was far emptier than Poe would have liked.

The fewer people out there to disguise his—and Amidala’s—presence, the greater the chance he’d become more than just a minor footnote in the society pages.

Great. That was just… great.

“You’re gonna owe me big time, Senator,” he said, taking the hand Amidala offered to him as they approached the waxed, intricately inlaid floor. He wouldn’t allow himself to consider how strong Amidala’s grip was, how smooth the skin of his palm compared to Poe’s own. _Your skin’s smoother than it used to be, Dameron. You don’t need them any softer than they are._

He was surprised, startled even, by the hard glint created in the senator’s eyes by his words. “And what is it you’d like from me?” he asked, pulling Poe inexorably nearer the center of the dance floor. Whether for his own benefit or Poe’s, Poe couldn’t say, but even the pretext of anonymity made him feel better. With at least a few couples between him and the gossipmongers around them, his heart calmed considerably.

Poe smiled, a little kinder than he might’ve liked, but unable to help it anyway. No doubt everyone wanted something from Amidala, spun every interaction with him to their own benefit. Whatever Poe knew about that probably paled in comparison to Amidala’s own experiences. And if he hated his own brushes with it…? It had to be that much worse for someone like Amidala. Shit like that rankled, got under your skin and festered.

It was why Poe hated going to these things so much. So many obvious people wanting so many obvious things. Well, what Poe wanted was probably obvious, too, but hopefully it wouldn’t disappoint Amidala in quite the same way as if he’d used the opportunity to ask for a favor. “How about you buy me a drink or two after this whole thing’s over? Maybe dinner?”

Amidala stilled right in the middle of adjusting Poe’s stance to his liking. He pulled a face that Poe might’ve been offended by if it wasn’t so childish, like Amidala had just tasted something particularly yucky and he didn’t like it one bit. “You’re kidding me,” he said, voice full of despair, which only added to Poe’s reluctant amusement—and bemusement. Poe’d struck out a time or two or a lot more than that in his life. But this was probably the least gracious version of it he’d experienced so far.

Poe’d expected relief at the very least. Dinner and drinks was easy. It wasn’t like Poe was trying to exact support on some bill or other that worked in the Navy’s favor. He wasn’t asking Amidala to betray his own morals for a bit of notoriety. He didn’t want to stand on Amidala’s shoulders for a glimpse into the great halls of power.

“Hey, pal, I’m doing you a favor here.” Poe frowned as Amidala got back to prodding him into place. He didn’t go as far as kicking Poe’s feet apart for him, but it was a near thing and Poe got that particular memo clearly enough from the way Amidala tried to shoot lasers at his legs with the force of his glare alone. “I can’t be that abhorrent if you’re willing to dance with me in front of people who care a whole lot more about this sort of thing than I do.”

A deeper frown tugged at the corner of Amidala’s mouth; perturbation dimpled his cheek. If this was the only payback Poe could get, he’d take it. It was funny enough. Most senators of Poe’s acquaintance were far less easily provoked to anger. At least when it came to something most people considered flattering in some fashion or another. “So what do you say? Drinks on you?”

“Why don’t we get through this first?” Amidala asked, prim, businesslike, completely ignoring the multitude of ways Poe’s comment could’ve been taken.

Poe might’ve leered a little. What could he say? He wasn’t always a good man. And it made Amidala blush so adorably and then step on Poe’s toes.

That… probably wasn’t an accident. And Amidala didn’t apologize for it. And worst of all, the missed step probably didn’t register to anyone except Poe, who felt it as a hard, sharp sting through his foot while Amidala hardly missed a beat. Maybe Poe deserved it, but he would never, ever admit to it if he did. 

Fine. So Amidala was better at this particular game than Poe was. He could live with that. He would just have to think of a new tactic.

Glancing around, Poe noted at least four politicians he knew well enough socially that he’d eventually be called to share everything with. And a few more turning curious looks his way that he could tell meant they would be sniffing around at some point. Sighing, he focused on his feet and not screwing up the next few steps as he worked out how he’d be wriggling out of every one of their grasps…

“Don’t pay attention to them.” Amidala bent his head in, his hair falling into his face. His eyes were very, very intense. “Look at me.”

At the moment, that seemed almost as dangerous. But Poe hadn’t ever been a coward and he didn’t shy away from direct demands, so he did. If only to prove to himself there was nothing to be worried about. 

Instead of seeing snideness, superiority, or cynicism in Amidala’s face, he saw understanding and appreciation, a slight softening that made him look just that much more appealing to Poe. Yep. He’d been right. This was far, far too dangerous for his liking.

“Where would you like to go?” Amidala asked. “For one or two drinks, maybe dinner?”

For the length of a turn, Poe forgot what he was doing and fumbled a step he’d come to know well and hate with equal passion. A Navy man shouldn’t have needed to know how to dance at all, not unless he wanted to. 

And Poe had very much not wanted to. He had better things to do, like protect the Republic from pirates and raiders and slavers. Learn better ways to fight and fly ships and save people from pointless deaths in the Outer Rim. Protect his people from…

“No answer?” Amidala asked, squeezing Poe’s hand to get his attention.

“I’m not picky,” he answered, quick, the words tripping over his tongue as they left his mouth, caring not in the least. Anywhere was looking better than here at this point. “As long as the drinks are strong.”

Amidala’s lip quirked up in what could generously be called a genuine smile. If Poe was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Which—in this case, at least—he was inclined to do. “I happen to know a place,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice, and conspiracy. Like he was sharing a favorite secret and enjoyed the telling of it. “And I won’t even have to summon my security team for us to get there.”

Poe merely arched his brow and chose to read only innocent things into that statement.

As though the world existed to bend to Amidala’s will, the music wound down almost as soon as he said it. Couples around them laughed and wrapped their arms around one another as they stepped away from their fellow dancers. A handful of the more daring individuals murmured greetings to the senator as they passed by.

“It’s always nice to see you dancing, Senator,” one said, more cheeky than truly daring, her eyes twinkling as she took her liberties with him. “You’re so very handsome when you’re not brooding over your partner.”

Even fewer offered the same empty courtesy to Poe. And Poe was more than fine with that because at least he didn’t look like he might find himself in cardiac distress in the next few moments, face red, lips, thin and pale. Every instinct to shout subsumed by proper, polite decorum.

Amidala finally held his arm out for Poe to take, stiff, a more gallant gesture than Poe was expecting and one Amidala seemed determined to ignore as such, his gaze focusing solely on the ground before them. Poe considered pointing it out, but instead he merely wrapped his hand around Amidala’s elbow and allowed himself to be escorted off the floor, pretending he wasn’t equally as focused on ignoring the reality of the situation. 

If part of him still managed to note just how defined Amidala’s muscles seemed to be beneath his robes, he could at least purposefully fail to acknowledge it for as long as possible, one of his favorite self-preservation techniques.

_Here be krayt dragons_ , his mind whispered at him, an old joke amongst the explorers and travelers of the galaxy, handed down from the days when the Unknown Regions stretched across the vast majority of galactic space. This was a little like that. There was nothing so impossible as imagining letting oneself get involved with a senator. Poe’d seen it enough times to know it was a bad idea. And he’d seen enough dreamy social climbers brought low by their dreams to know better. _Here be monsters_.

“So,” Amidala said, affecting a disingenuous, teasing tone that suited him poorly. “Shall we?”

Poe’s heart, he was afraid to admit, started beating harder all the same. “Isn’t it a little early to cut out of this thing?”

Amidala looked around and shrugged. “I’ve made all the impression I intend to tonight. Why not?”

_Why not indeed?_

_Screw krayt dragons and monsters._ Poe knew what he wanted and what he was in for. He wasn’t a social climber. A few drinks were enough.

“Well, all right then.” He linked his arm a little bit tighter with Amidala’s. “Lead the way, Senator Amidala.” He hated the sound of Amidala’s title on his tongue, but it put the distance between them that Poe didn’t want, but imagined would soon be necessary anyway.

“It’s Ben,” he said, short and awkward, like he wasn’t used to inviting anyone that much into his confidences.

Poe bit back a smile. An invitation like that? What was life without a little risk? Though he knew better—he _knew_ —he couldn’t ignore the implication. And didn’t really want to. Throwing caution aside, he allowed his hand to slip down and clasp Ami—Ben’s in a quick, tight squeeze before letting go. “Good to meet you, Ben.”

And as they—together this time—abandoned the press of people around them, heading toward the turbolifts, Poe thought it was entirely possible that would be true.

Once they were free of the crowds, the necessity to be the commodore and the senator, Poe confirmed it by linking their hands together a second time. This time, he laced their fingers together. Even better, Ben didn’t stop him from doing so.

If drinks, maybe dinner ends up going well, he might even have found himself a reason to look forward to these parties. And that would make it worth it for the novelty alone.

So yeah, it was definitely possible he’d find himself glad he met this particular senator.


End file.
